


Harbinger

by Siclereus



Series: Beginnings [1]
Category: Sidereus
Genre: Angels, The Fall - Freeform, biblical, war in heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siclereus/pseuds/Siclereus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has never been a war without casualties.</p><p>"We will endure! In fire, in ash and in steel- we endure!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbinger

"Why must you always destroy the balance we have found after millennia?" the angel looked torn between anger and despair. His voice was pleading, furious and sorrowful all at the same time, but he still managed to look eerily calm and collected. A resistant wall, as always.

"I am _done_ with doing as Father says without questions or complaints. I am _not_ the perfect soldier. I am not you, _Michael,_ " he snapped back at his worried sibling, slowly boiling rage twisting his soft features into a snarl. " _'Who is like God?'_ You were _created_ for this. To be- this. You were made to be this. _Perfect_." Michael looked taken aback. "I am only your feeble, weak little brother that needs constant attention. The 'most precious jewel', _right?_ " he hissed, baring his teeth. His hair fell into his eyes, partially obscuring his sight. Any other time he would have reached up to fix it, compose back his _perfection_.

Michael took a few steps back, shaking his head. "Brother, please, listen to me-" he tried, but the words hardly registered.

"I have a _name_." His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

He tried again- this time his pleas started with a name, a beloved name, a precious name. " _Lucifer_ , please, listen to me, I beg you! This is _madness_ , you cannot- you simply cannot do this! You cannot go against _Him!_ " Michael threw his arms out.

"You don't understand," he said as a matter of fact, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned his back to him and with a strong wave of his wings he was gone.

***

Michael slumped pathetically against one of the pillars in his quarters, struggling to hold himself upright. He was shaking, desperately trying to keep the pained screams inside his chest. He felt his current form flicker for the split moment of a blink of an eye, shifting into something else entirely, before obeying him and turning back.

He slumped to the ground, letting his head rest in his hands, finally succumbing to the crystalline tears.

No one could be equal to Him.

Yet there was his younger brother, mindlessly plotting against Him, unknowingly planning his own suicide. He had come to Michael seeking help, but Michael couldn't possibly help him. Not with that. He had tried to help him see clearly, past the haughty madness that had clouded his mind, but Lucifer wouldn't listen to him, blindly going on and on about the same thing, getting angrier with him the more he resisted. Until he must have had enough and left.

And now the Light Bringer, the Highest Seraph, one of the four archangels, God's _favourite_ was planning to overthrow the throne of the Most High. He would raise chaos and turn everything upside down, sowing seeds of rebellious thinking everywhere he would go next, angering Him more and more and Michael didn't want to know what punishment would be dealt to him. Father loved him, but He was fair. Maybe too fair.

Michael's little brother was stubbornly marching towards his own death and he couldn't stop him.

He slumped to the marble ground and let the fear rake his spine, choking out small wails and sobs out of his throat. He cried for a long time, alone.

***

"Michael! Michael, brother!" he heard a familiar voice filled with childlike glee echo through his quarters, bouncing off the marble walls and pillars. Despite his exhaustion, he felt himself smile a little bit.

"Shhh! What if he's busy?" another, younger voice addressed the former.

He turned his back to his workplace, a mess of unfinished plans and ideas, and walked over to where the voices of his brothers were coming from, a few corridors down.

He kneeled down to Raphael's level. "Never too busy for you two troublemakers," he smiled. "So, what is bothering you?" he looked at Gabriel, who was repeatedly running his small hands through the feathers of his small wings.

"Father wishes to speak to you!" the young messenger beamed at him. _Not good,_ the elder thought. He glanced at Raphael, who he knew would sense his nervousness. He could already see dozens of questions dancing behind his eyes, ready to come out, to satisfy his unquenchable curiosity.

"I'll talk to you later," he said, standing up and smiling at his two younger brothers, before leaving for the throne room.

***

He stepped inside the enormous hall. The tower of sparkling glass dominated Heaven and Michael could see all of it from the room. The guards saluted him before closing the door, leaving him alone in the throne room. He could see the reflection of his form in the shiny marble floor when he glanced down at his feet, feeling humbled by his Father's presence. Though the room housed a throne, made out of wood and fine metals, He was looking out of one of the windows.

It was incredibly quiet that day. The echoes of Seraphim's beautiful voices were missing from the spaces of the chambers. There were no songs and no prayers that would fill Michael with love and calm him down.

"Michael," he heard Him say. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No, Father," he bowed his head down.

"My eldest, one of your brothers has strayed onto the path of destruction." Oh, He knows. "My second eldest, your brother. Lucifer." Michael felt his head spin.

But he only nodded and He spoke again. "You have come a long way. You have never disappointed me, Michael," He continued, "And I need you to stay strong and stand in my name."

He didn't feel strong. Everything inside him was tense and weak and anxious.

"From this moment onward, you are the Commander of the Heavenly Host. You will be the General of Heaven's armies," Father looked him straight in the eyes and Michael shuddered.

"Father..." he kneeled down and bowed his head in submission, feeling himself grow rather overwhelmed. He knew a day would come when his Father would bestow upon him incredible responsibility, but never, not in a million years, would he have thought the day would come so soon. He felt too young, too inexperienced, too afraid.

"You are the eldest, now the most powerful of all my children. Michael, my dear child, do not bow your head before me, do not kneel, but carry yourself with your responsibility in mind. You are a warrior."

His knees trembled as he slowly stood up from the cold marble ground. "Yes, Father," his voice was small and weak.

A hand rested upon his shoulder and he felt a rush of energy pass through him, winding itself into his being. At first he wanted to pull away, consumed by shock, but a familiar warmth of the energy soothed him. He arched to his full height, his eyes fluttering involuntarily shut. As the last bolt of energy struck through him, Michael softly opened his eyes to look at the Creator. He felt immense love and admiration upon seeing His face, feelings which convinced him of his unquestioning respect and obedience to his Father.

"My son, I must ask something from you," His voice spoke to him again.

"Anything, Father," Michael answered in an instant.

A short silence followed before He continued. "The Light Bringer has to be defeated, before his corrupted ideals will further destroy this home. The army will be raised and you will lead all of Heaven against him."

His face twisted into a grimace of shock. "I- _Father-_ "

"Michael, Lucifer _has_ to be destroyed. I believe you to be the most trustworthy son of mine, one truly fit to carry out his duties. I will need you to banish him and his followers out of Heaven. I have complete trust in you, but I need you to strengthen your faith in me, too," his Father squeezed his shoulder in assurance.

"He's just delusional, please, give me more time to fix it-" he begged, but Father shook His head sadly.

"This is an order, Michael. As the General, you will lead our warriors into a war against the Adversary." Michael's whole frame weighed down under an invisible force. "Now, go to Kaphiel. I have instructed him to help you in any way he will be able."

But Michael stood in the same place for a few more minutes, staring at the marble floor, trying to think of something that would save his brother.

"Michael," He raised His voice as a warning.

"Yes, Father," he scrambled for the doors to the throne room, turning his back to his Father. He barely heard Him wishing him good luck as he spun around on his heel and swiftly marched out. The guards asked him curiously about their conversation, but he only stormed past them, a deep frown settled in his features already. He had decided it would be best to go to Kaphiel first.

***

The angel Father had sent him to turned out to be a rather cheerful Power who was everywhere at once inside the vast Chamber of Weaponry. Michael took notice of the countless spears, swords, sets of armour and more, all neatly hanging on the hooks on the walls, gleaming in the light. Michael greeted him with a small nod.

"Father sends me," he spoke when the angel greeted him with a smile. "The Most High wishes for His armies to be prepared to go into battle as soon as possible," the words were hard for him to say.

"Yes, yes, He has informed me already," the Power told him, leading him to a massive table with cloths, phials and sandstone. "Rather a shame, is it not?" he added by-the-by, glancing at Michael's face for a reaction.

He remained composed. "He has deemed my brother unworthy. It is not my place to question Him." That was not him, those words were not his. He wanted to scream his lungs out. He couldn't, couldn't, _couldn't_ betray his brother just like that. He couldn't-

"I often forget how strong you are. Pardon me if I am not appropriate, I do apologize deeply, but I must say I admire your loyalty, greatly," the Power smiled at him brightly.

He felt guilty. "Thank you, Kaphiel," he eased a smile, gritting his teeth together.

The angel stared at him for a few more seconds before gaining his wits about him. He started shoving everything on the massive table aside to make room. "Well, let's get on with this, shall we? I will need to see each and every one of your soldiers personally, to tailor the proper weapons to them," he continued, "And I am afraid that does include you, too, Michael."

"Of course." He manifested the silver blade into his left hand before handing the steel over to Kaphiel. The Power took the sword from him into his own shaky hands, his eyes glinting in the light. He gently laid the weapon down on the table, examining it with a keen eye.

"It is even more beautiful than I had ever imagined. The four sons truly have the best, do they not?" the angel muttered to himself.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, I am sincerely sorry. I have heard that the Archangels' weapons are exquisite pieces of work, but this," he motioned towards Michael's sword lying on the table, "Exceeds all of my expectations," he grinned.

The elder shifted uncomfortably, never having considered his sword anything more than useful. It was quite unimpressive to him, actually. He had seen far more beautiful things. "I will need it back in two days, so if there is anything wrong with it, could you please repair it as soon as you are able? I would be very thankful," he diverted the subject.

"Yes, indeed, I will send it back to you with one of your soldiers later today, Prince. Just a bit of sharpening," the angel beamed proudly, bowing his head and showing him the way out.

"I am forever grateful," Michael smiled weakly before walking away to gather some of the soldiers to spread the message.

He passed Zarichael, Haniel, Ananaiel and Tobriel on his way back to his quarters. The four all tensed at the mention of war, but eased up once Michael told them he had been appointed the General and would make sure to prepare them all for battle adequately. They eased up even more when he told them who they would be fighting against. Well, all except Ananaiel. He dismissed them, telling them to spread the news as quickly as possible. The four of them took off on their wings in four separate directions. He had sent them to tell everyone from the armies that war was coming and to immediately go to the angel Kaphiel as soon as they would be off duty.

By evening, Ananaiel, one of the Cherubim, showed up at his quarters with his sword. He thanked her for the favour, but the brilliant blue vastness of her eyes stayed focused on him. She crossed her arms over her chest, her wings drawing closer together, asking him about his plans for the upcoming battle.

"I will go against him, the rest of you will go after whoever he will bring with. I expect it will be over very soon," he retorted.

"Prince Michael, with all due respect, you should not underestimate your brother. I have... I have been to one of his masses and I have seen the way he talks, the way others listen... Have you visited him recently? Have you ever seen him among them? This cannot go well and it will not be short," the Cherub protested.

"Ananaiel, my brother is not a threat. It will be done in a day. Have faith," he tried to reassure her, gently showing her out of his quarters. "Again, I am very thankful for you returning my sword, but I have to ask you to leave," he told her, watching her bow her head and walk away. Only when he knew no one could see him anymore and the Cherub was long gone did he turn back, slowly making his way back on shaking knees.

***

The younger Archangel was frantically pacing around his room. Azazel and Rumyel  had already stormed into his quarters several times that day, yelling about the uprising of Heaven's armies and General Michael.

He was devising a plan, of course. He had enough of Heaven's angels on his side to give his brother quite the surprise, but he still needed a way to show the rest the truth. He needed a way to show them how powerful one could be without Him, how great he had become once he had started building himself up without the help and approval of his Father.

Unlike his brothers, he had spent a lot of time with low ranking angels. As God's (former) favourite, he had a way with words that no one else had been gifted with. He spoke to all God's angels with kindness and affection, the way he believed they should have been treated all along. Each one had made a path for him into their hearts, eager to follow him. He taught them how to be independent, how to enjoy the riches of their lives, how to think for themselves. He spoke to them of his vision. He spoke to them of sunshine and stars and unfathomable freedom, freedom from Him and His unyielding stare. And they all had fallen in love with the idea as much as he had. But how could he show the others the potential their cause held?

There was a knock on his door yet again.

"Come in," he sighed.

"My Prince," Belial grinned up at him. "I heard war is coming upon us- is it true? Has the time finally come?" Their words left Lucifer just as anxious as they were. Was this really the right time? There would never be another chance.

"Yes. The time has come," he smiled brightly at his lieutenant, feeling assured by his own words. Yes, it was time. They were strong enough. "We will march against Him in two days."

"The preparations are all complete and all of ours are in their places. Should I remind the other lieutenants?" the pale eyed Dominion asked, raising a brow.

"Tell them to be in my quarters tomorrow, when night rises. You can go now," he dismissed the angel with one hand, picking up his short blade from its holder on the wall.

"Yes, prince," he heard them say as they left to tell the other lieutenants. In two days he would have to stand against his brother.

***

The following day Michael decided to tell his youngest brother about the next day. He was walking down to their favourite play place, where they would be every day without fail, when he rounded the corner and found someone else already playing with his brothers.

"Luci, Luci, show us that trick again!" his two siblings cheered as the second eldest made the rose bush in front of them change into rubies and copper, before turning it back again into an ordinary flower bush. Had he not heard him himself, Michael would have never been able to believe Lucifer to be so corrupted.

"Later. I wouldn't want to upset Michael, he has never been that good with the fine arts," he proclaimed, not even turning around to acknowledge him. The two young Archangels, however, immediately ran up to him, dragging him to the Light Bringer.

He noticed them both in utter awe, their eyes bright and big with shock. Lucifer, however, his baby brothe- no, his _Adversary_ , he reminded himself, had a very calm, almost eerie look in his eyes once Michael was close enough to see. The once brilliant crystal clear sky blue was long gone, having been replaced by the colour of an oncoming storm. It had faded away into a distant memory.

"Lucifer can make things out of nothing, brother! I thought only Father knew how!" Gabriel was tugging at his arm, staring awestruck at the second eldest. Michael tensed. And Lucifer smirked. For a split second, Michael was overcome with fury.

"Is that so?" he asked dryly, staring at the Morning Star who didn't meet his eyes.

"Yes! Show him, showhimshowhim _showhim! Pleeeeeeease?_ " Gabriel whined with Raphael frantically nodding right beside him.

He saw Lucifer bask in the attention of their younger siblings. "Only because you asked so nicely," he grinned, raising his hands in front of himself. All three of them startled when a tiny creature appeared. It was marble white and shiny, with delicate wings and a small beak. The two small angels cheered. The next moment it caught on fire and turned to ashes, slipping through Lucifer's fingers like sand.

"And how exactly did you discover this... ability of yours?" Michael looked up at him again.

"Michael, dearest, that is, I believe, what we call a 'secret'," the Seraph smiled  and looked straight into his eyes.

The eldest only scowled, for the sake of keeping his calm in front of his younger siblings. "Anyway," he turned his attention back to the young ones. "I wanted to speak with you two. About yesterday." he added.

"No need to, I already told them," Lucifer waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, have you?"

"Yes. Father has appointed you the General of Heaven's armies, or no?"

"Well, yes," Michael confirmed.

"And tomorrow you are going to lead them against an enemy." His eyes had a dangerous glint to them.

"That is true. But it won't last long. Our enemy is small, insignificant and cowardly. They hide behind tricks and empty words," he sent a subtle threat his way. When did his brother change so drastically?

Lucifer's eyes darkened, a fake smile gracing his features. "I do think underestimating your enemy might be a very bad idea, _brother_ ," he reminded him before lightening up again, rushing the two young Archangels ahead to play. They waved the eldest a quick goodbye before turning on their heels, racing ahead.

He tried to walk away, too, but he stopped him in his tracks, tightly gripping his wrist. "I do hope you know what you had lost when you refused to join me," he whispered. "Nani."

Michael felt a pang of sadness melt inside his chest, but before he could respond, Lucifer was gone, with their brothers.

He turned around on his heel and flew back to his quarters, wanting nothing more than to be enveloped by the apathetic calm that hovered inside.

***

His lieutenants showed up together in his quarters right on time, along with their subordinates. They went through their strategies once more, before turning to lighter topics. Lucifer felt now a familiar warmth spread inside his chest as he watched his followers laugh and chatter, so content. It was long into the night when they finally departed, leaving him to fall asleep. His dreams, however, were not so pleasant.

***

The first rays of sun illuminated the City. A faint smell of cloves lingered in the air. The battle was nearing, the stiffness outside of the High chambers almost palpable. Michael and his soldiers marched through the City to the outskirts. Those who weren't fit to fight stood by, watching the Archangel lead.

The field was vast and undisturbed with a few patches of high grass here and there.

They patiently awaited their enemy. The nine formations on the ground stood calmly, while the other two formations hovered above, with Michael at the front. He listened closely to any suspicious sounds, six mighty wings keeping him easily supported in the air.

Almost half an hour must have passed when he sensed the temperature around them drop down considerably low. The sudden change drove a slight shudder from him.

A fairly large group of angels landed on the opposite end of the field, weapons in their hands already. He felt something inside his chest drop when he saw some of his friends in the enemy's army. But he saw other angels, too, ones that should not have been there already only because they had never been trained properly. And that pained him even more.

One of the angels stepped out, elegantly gliding with each step into the very middle of the battlefield, his eight shining wings trailing behind him. He was barefoot and only wore a simple tunic that hung from his shoulders and stopped at his fingertips. The only pieces of armour he wore were golden plates protecting his forearms. It was a stark contrast against the sets of armour that each soldier of the Heavenly Host had been fashioned with.

Michael flew down to meet him.

"Well, here we are, Michael."

"Lucifer," he acknowledged.

"Do not be so harsh, please," the younger smiled. "I am honestly sorry for keeping you waiting, but I thought that _someone_ should explain to our sibling who have been left behind why all of Heaven's armies were marching through the City," a dark shadow loomed over Lucifer's features.

"You are only going to achieve corpses, not victory," he replied, scowling even deeper. He didn't think  his brother would stoop so low.

"Really?" he whispered loud enough only for Michael to hear, raising a brow. "You heard him yourselves!" he turned to his followers. "The eldest Prince of Heaven, Michael, my _brother_ has no intention of solving this with words. In his opinion, only violence can solve this problem," the entire crowd started shouting for justice, throwing insults at him.

Lucifer had always had a way of twisting everything to fit his liking- but to turn his own words against him... Michael had never thought he would ever turn so cunning.

His brother turned abruptly on his heel and rose to the air, hovering above his angels, along with his "lieutenants". Michael returned to his own army, taking off into the air. Even if Lucifer _had_ manipulated some more angels to his side, Heaven's armies made up four fifths of Heaven. Ten times bigger than the group of his brother's followers, _at least._

He raised his hand, about to sign his soldiers to attack, when a shrill whistle pierced the tense silence between them. Almost half of his angels flew up, hovering above the two flying formations. He snapped his head into Lucifer's direction and saw him give him a rather cruel smile.

***

Belial gave the signal and his angels rose from the ranks of the Heavenly Host, above the armies. His brother looked first at them, then at him and Lucifer couldn't help himself but laugh at his expression- something between horrified and frozen to the bone with shock.

So much for underestimating their numbers, he thought.

The angels flew to their side, taking their place between the others.

***

He knew he shouted an order for the battle to begin and he knew he also shouted something insulting at Lucifer, but he couldn't move otherwise. He tried to process what had just happened, the malicious smile of the Adversary burned inside his mind forever. He even saw one of his own direct subordinates fly over to the other side.

Unwillingly, he firmly gripped his sword in his hand, looking for the younger archangel with keen eyes, straining his sight. He could not even distinguish his own.

As if through divine interference, Michael turned around just in time to see Belial's face twisted in rage, the spear in their hand barely missing his neck. He swiftly countered, but the Power was too far for him to reach, already shouting for Lucifer.

The shadow of eight mighty wings appeared from above, making him look up. The Enemy was there and Belial was long gone.

Neither of them spoke and they only spared each other a second long look, before Michael charged first. Lucifer was quick enough to deflect his attacks and even make some of his own. He is _too_ quick, Michael realized. The last time he had trained with his sibling he wasn't-

 _Right_. The last time he trained with Lucifer was _eons_ ago. The little fledgling he practiced with was clumsy and kept dropping the sword in his small hands. Now, Lucifer was faster, wiser and mainly, far more malicious. This was _war_ , Michael had to remind himself.

The younger flew high above him, only to drop with enormous speed back down, swinging both his swords. Michael deflected the first one, but was unable to stop the second as it slashed the skin where his neck and his shoulder met, making a rather deep cut. He growled, lunging forward at Lucifer, but managed only a small cut on his upper arm.

"Is that it?" he laughed, taunting him.

_Where did the bastard learn how to fight like this, anyway?_

He felt the blade graze his flesh again, but he was too focused to care. It couldn't have been Lucifer, that was impossible. It was neither his brother, nor his enemy. He didn't want to admit to underestimating his little brother, because it simply wasn't _him_ anymore. At least that malicious part... The cruel smile, the sharp, decisive movements of his wings, everything was foreign to Michael.

While Lucifer had both of those swords, he had no chance in a fair fight. But there was still _something_ he could do. Warily, he swung his sword at him and he caught it easily between his two, as expected. Michael jumped, not pulling his sword away, and brought it down directly into Lucifer's shoulder and twisted it. The other gasped in shock as the blade pierced through his flesh and bone all the way through his shoulder, emerging through his back and injuring one of his wings, too. The limb twitched, limply falling on his back. He stared at Michael as he withdrew his sword stained with ichor, his eyes wide with shock and pain and _betrayal_.

The younger shakily lunged forward, swishing the blades in offense without thinking.

He took advantage of that, kicking one of the swords from his hands. The Light Bringer let go of the weapon without hesitation, kicking Michael, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. With a snarl, the younger jumped at him, the one sword gripped tightly in his hands, meaning to strike a killing blow. Michael shut his eyes, praying, but it never came. Instead, he heard Lucifer scream and then someone was kneeling beside him, gently touching his shoulder.

"Are you alright, General?" he heard Ananaiel ask him. Michael opened his eyes, his sigh instantly landing on his brother lying on the ground, a cherub's spear sticking from his torso. _No-_

"I-Is he?"

"No," she shook her head. "But we still have enough time until-"

"Did you really think that a _spear_ -a _cherub's_ spear- would stop _me?_ " Lucifer coughed out, blood staining his mouth and dripping down his neck. For a split second, Michael saw his form shift into something terrible. He was barely standing and the staff was still awkwardly protruding from his body. "Oh, I am so sorry," he smiled serenely when he looked down. He gripped the hilt with his hand and slowly pulled it out of his body. It was stained with blood and ichor, no part of its original silver colour visible anymore. "It takes something else to kill someone like me. A cherub, though," Michael realized all too late what he was going to do. In one strong, swift move, Lucifer threw the spear back at Ananaiel, straight through her head, and Michael couldn't do anything to stop him, too shocked to move. The cherub fell dead to the ground, her blood staining Michael, too, and the Adversary laughed, harsh and cold.

Before the General could gain his wits about him and charge, the rebel Archangel was gone, lost in the crowd of fighting armies again. He dived into the chaos himself, drawing his sword through the form of any angel he did not recognize as being explicitly on his side.

***

He flew to Sammael, who hovered still, observing the fighting below from the other end of the field. He nudged his arm. The Cherub nodded, giving another shrill whistle that blew over the whole battlefield. Their angels rose to the air and flew back and the Heavenly Host retreated back to Michael, some of them supporting their injured friends. As the armies separated, the field below them came into clear view.

Corpses lied everywhere and the ground was stained red and gold, the faces of the dead angels eternally frozen in pain and shock. Their faces and bodies were bloodies and beaten. He recognized some of the angels, some not.

He heard those still alive on his side give a horrified cry, desperately trying to comfort each other. He looked over to his lieutenants, fortunately none of them missing. Sammael tilted his head in an unspoken question. All the angels' faces turned to him, some hollow, some pleading and some utterly terrified.

Lucifer didn't care, he really didn't care if he would die in that war, but he would not allow himself to be killed by someone who dared to call himself his brother, killed because of the Creator and his misplaced wishes. He was scared, but that didn't matter. All he knew was that his angels, all his precious angels had to be safe and sound and he would rather die trying to protect them than by the cold steel of Michael's sword.

"Get them out of here," he scowled. "All of them. Safe. _Go,_ " he ordered, turning to face Heaven's armies. He waited until all of his angels would be far enough from the radius.

***

"He is definitely up to something, watch your backs," Michael told his warriors, eyes trained still on Lucifer as his army flew away, leaving only their leader behind. "Have you surrendered already and plan to spare your little subjects of the embarrassment of following you?" the Archangel spat out, gripping his sword tightly in his hand.

"No," the younger answered calmly.

***

If it wouldn't have been hypocritical, he would have prayed for his plan to work. But because it was, he settled in for blindly hoping.

He focused turning his energy to the desired wavelengths while Michael talked, until the image became clear and he felt the overwhelming burning feeling spread into his veins and weave itself into his form, clouding his vision. He let it blind him and take over.

It was what power felt like to Lucifer- raw, boiling and fulfilling. Blinding.

Through a quick glance, he saw the skin on the arms of his form sizzle to an angry red and looked away, disgusted. _Just a few more seconds,_ he pleaded with his own form, willing for the wounds to heal. He was the closest thing to a small universe right then and _any_ slight mistake on his part would be a catastrophe.

***

Michael knew something was wrong with him the minute he jerked his head violently towards his army, his arms blistering red one second and back to normal the other.

***

He felt the energy tug at his own life force, trying to get to the source of power which he was pouring into it. His vision clouded again for a second before allowing him to see again. He thought he saw concern flash across Michael's face for a second, before turning into another hardened mask.

The Light Bringer raised his hands with his palms outstretched towards the Heavenly Host, focusing only on controlling the flow of energy inside him. It was million times more than he had ever tried to control. The skin on his hands burned away instantly as the first rays of light appeared in front of him out of nothing. The pictured a wall, wide and tall enough to shadow all of the enemy's army. Quicker than he thought, a crystal wall appeared between the two sides, shining brilliantly with the rays of light that flowed through it.

As he saw the look of realization and utter horror on the General's face and as the last bits of the wall rose over their army, he let the matter collapse on itself, creating a wave of pure, raw energy that created an explosion which swept the whole battlefield and swallowed all the screams of his enemy.

***

Creating small creatures out of nothing was one thing, but to actually create _nothing_ -

He realized what was going on too late, when Lucifer unleashed the chaos upon them. The eldest angel could hear the screams of his soldiers, panicked and pained, but he also heard one other, much more clear, reverberating through his own form, that made him want to scream out in _worry_. It made him want to reach out for his little brother, whose scream of agony he heard through the ones of his own army.

Thank Father Almighty, he thought to himself when the explosion finally died down. Michael knew that their Father could not interfere in this war, but he felt His blessing dawn over the remaining soldiers of the Host. He looked around, trying to process who was alright and who needed care immediately. He himself got out just fine, bruised and burned, but still far better than his loyal warriors. Almost half of them were severely injured and burned, their wings scorched, some even missing the appendages completely. He looked over to the side of the enemy where Lucifer hovered just moments ago, but found no one.

***

He managed to flee in just the right moment before the explosion.

He was using his last bits of energy he had left for flight and as soon as he saw his own army of angels, he barely made it safely down to them, before falling in total exhaustion. Azazel and Sammael caught him in the middle of his fall and carried him to the rebel army.

"How did it go?" Belial asked on the behalf of all of his followers. Everyone leaned in, listening intently.

"Look for yourself," he managed to get out, his voice raspy.

Sure enough, Belial bolted into the skies and towards the enemy, only to return in a minute, looking like they themself had the blessing of the Father bestowed upon them.

"Half of their soldiers have taken the hit! _HALF!_ " they yelled and everyone cheered, swords, spears and knives raised to the skies. Few even started singing, but all of them, without fail, were laughing, looking at Lucifer in utter awe and admiration gratitude and he felt loved, so loved.

After one of the healer angels took care of his wounds, he slowly stood up and took a walk to talk with some of his followers, his precious angels.

"Hey, cheer up," he sat down to one of the younger ones, a Cherub whose wings have been badly broken. He tried to look brave, but the little angel was shaking visibly. He looked up at Lucifer at the sound of his voice, but immediately looked back down. "Come on, let me see them for myself. I am no brother of mine, but I know how to heal a battle wound," he smiled at the young angel, who tentatively unfurled his broken wings. The elder conjured some of the last bits of his energy into his fingertips, brushing lightly over the two injured appendages- which healed in no time and returned to their shining blue colour.

"Th-Thank you, P-Prince," the Cherub looked up at him, a wide smile on his face.

"Don't fret, you can call me by my name," the Seraph smiled warmly. "What's yours?"

"B-Baltanayel, sir," the angel stumbled over his own name.

"Are you good to fight?" Lucifer looked him over again- besides his formerly broken wings, he didn't see any serious wounds. That still didn't mean the angel was up for fighting, though.

"Yes!" he grinned, his eyes shining brightly.

He smiled at him. "Thank you. You are all so, _so_ very brave," he stood up to go look at others. "Good luck, Bal," he glanced one last time at the Cherub, who nodded and said something back. He didn't hear anything but static, but pretended he did and walked away.

***

Michael was furious. Not angry, not enraged- he was absolutely _furious_. When Lucifer had showed him that petty little trick the day before, he had thought nothing of it, just him showing off. _Now,_ it was made clear that the younger Archangel had been blatantly _threatening_ him. And Michael had been enough of a fool to dismiss it off as _nothing more than him just showing off._

To start off, he wasn't even sure if he was more furious with Lucifer or himself.

 _Half_ of his angels were severely injured and in pain. _Half_. That meant he and the Adversary were now about equal in numbers. It still meant thousand thousands of angels on his side, but the fact Lucifer had the power to injure the same amount of angels with just one big explosion was overwhelming. For once, he found himself doubtful.

Michael turned around, surveying his ranks once again. Half his face had been burned by the fire and his hands were red and bloodied, but looking back at the remaining soldiers, he couldn't bring himself to feel any kind of pain or pity towards himself, only anger. He saw the same anger boil inside his subordinates, begging to be let out. But they were afraid, they were all so afraid.

"We will wait until nightfall and then attack- the moment of surprise is now essential to us. And if _they_ decide to attack _us,_ I am _sure_ all of you know how to respond to such a situation," he called out over his warriors, his voice betraying his composure, dripping with malice. And though some stood up straighter, meeting his eyes, some were still fearful.

"Do you think the Adversary will be merciful? Has he been merciful?" he shouted. "Has he?! He has brought us nothing but pain, misery and chaos! This war is _his_ doing! Do not be deceived- he wants us to think we have no other choice but to surrender to him and his powers, but we won't!" More and more of them looked confident. "We will endure! In fire, in ash and in steel- we _endure!_ "

All of Heaven's armies raised their weapons high with a confident roar.

***

Lucifer's army was healing well, but not well enough. The Morning Star was worrying himself sick, constantly fidgeting with anything that he was holding when no one was looking. There was this voice inside his head, doubting him.

Rumyel came up to him, asking him to join them. Some of the angels were sitting in a circle, singing to each other, leaning against one another. The others were fast asleep, healing. After some persuasion he agreed to join them. The angels looked up at him in expectation when he sat down among them. He smiled and joined their singing.

The Sun of Earth was beginning to set down and he couldn't help but be suspicious. He felt something bad was coming to them.

***

They were discussing further strategies when a loud blow on a battle horn pierced the night. Lucifer only managed to scream out for the angels to get ready, before the whole of Michael's remaining army attacked them. Everything was a haze. He couldn't even remember how one of his swords ended up in one of the angels of the enemy's army, the only thing that brought him back to reality was Michael's war cry as he swung his sword at him.

The Light Bringer felt power rise up inside him again, waking him up from his dazed state. They fought relentlessly, both too stubborn to plead with the other. The younger was wary of the General's tricks, unlike in their first battle. He didn't let Michael get too close and he didn't linger anywhere too long. He was making sure he wouldn't err in any way, but his attacks were still a bit rushed and feral. Michael was _calm_ , obviously not allowing himself any mistakes either and his movements were precise and cold.

They were both outstandingly good for each other.

None of them knew how long they fought, minutes or hours. The battle was going on around them, but they paid no attention to fighting anyone else but the other.

Lucifer was starting to waver. He couldn't keep up with two swords against Michael's, but he didn't want to lose any of them, either.

***

"Give up already! You will lose and be paraded through the City in chains!" Michael yelled at him through the rush of the battle.

" _Never!_ " he yelled back at him, throwing one of his swords at Michael, aiming for his head, but the elder dodged it with ease. They went on for some time, the battle around them eventually calming down. The remaining angels around them were broken and torn- they had to kill their siblings, only for their own survival. All of them were tired. The battle between them was over, all of them too tired to even more, not to mention _fight_.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer managed to lodge his short sword into Michael's shoulder, piercing one of his wings, too. His brother stumbled back, his sword falling from his hands against his will. Both of them were looking at each other, stunned. The rebel Archangel's face looked relieved. He looked victorious, happy. His followers all cheered and threw their weapons on the ground.

And all that lasted exactly three seconds. Three seconds- each one more precious than the other. One for Michael to get back to reality. One to find the concealed dagger on the belt of his coat. And the final last one for him to lunge at his brother, making him fall down, and draw the blade through his arm into the ground.

He fell with a startled scream, trying to scramble back up to his feet, but he couldn't. He tried to make use of his wings, but the Commander of the Heavenly Host was one step ahead of him. Michael punched him too hard for Lucifer  to fight unconsciousness.

***

When he woke up, he was no longer on the battlefield. The corpses of his siblings were nowhere to be seen. He was in a _room_ of sorts, that held nothing but a single lit candle. He tried using his powers to manifest more light, to no avail. He soon found out there was nothing for him to do but sit and wait. His hands were bound behind his back and his feet were connected by a chain.

He tried to wriggle out of the hold, when the single door to the room slammed open. Light illuminated the small space. Two guards stepped into the room while Michael stood outside. The guards hoisted him up to his feet and dragged him outside. The door slammed shut.

It was then, that he got a better look at himself. He was barefoot and when he tried to unfurl his wings, he found it impossible to do so, because of the weights bound to them. He was no more clad in his own clothes- instead, a red robe had been thrown over him.

"Ready for the parade, Satan?" one of the guard sneered.

He didn't say a word, wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He was glaring at Michael, trying to muster as much hatred as he possible could into his eyes.

But the elder wouldn't even look at him. He simply motioned for the to follow him and walked forward. And they did- they were walking from a pavilion that looked like it hadn't been used in a long time, a simple grey structure, that was worthy not even a glance when compared to the other building in the City.

"Your little followers are already waiting down there for you," Michael spoke up at last. He told the guards to go ahead and took the Light Bringer's chains into his own hands. Lucifer didn't say a word. "What, did you suddenly lose your tongue?" he sneered.

He didn't say a word, too proud. Michael jerked the chains forward, making the younger stumble on his feet and wince in pain as the chains tugged on his injured arm. They walked all the way down the City. After rounding a corner, a nasty sight came into view. Hundreds of warrior angels were creating a corridor that lead to a fairly small clearing. At the end, Lucifer could see all of his angels, huddled together, beaten and utterly terrified. All of the angels from Michael's army were yelling insults and crude remarks, cursing him, they were pushing him and kicking his feet.

It wasn't that bad until they started throwing rocks, shattered glass and even precious jewels at him, anything that would easily fit into their angry hands. He felt each and every one hitting him, he felt every wound that bled and every wound that didn't. He felt too much.

He stumbled, once even almost dropped to his knees. They were punching him around and Michael ruthlessly pulled him by the chains, pretending he didn't see any of the abuse. Some tore at the red robe, some kicked his knees, some even cut him with small knives and daggers.

But he held on. His face didn't betray a single ounce of emotion other that contempt. He held his head up high.

They neared the clearing. Michael stopped and Lucifer with him. The elder turned around and walked behind the Light Bringer, easing some of the weights from his wings. The once magnificent appendages were weak, broken and twisted in peculiar angles, dirtied by mud, blood and ichor.

Michael kicked his legs, making the Adversary fall on his knees. He didn't protest, still holding on to his pride. He was looking at his angels and they were looking at him, sobbing. Belial and Azazel were crying blood. When he strained his sight, he saw the young Cherub he had spoken to, Baltanayel, with his face twisted into a horrible grimace of fear.

The Archangel kicked him into his back, making him fall down. He tried to pull himself up again, but he held him down.

The General stood over him with a scowl. For a second, everything was still.

"This is your punishment." Michael's voice was cold.

He gripped the first pair of Lucifer's wings.

At first he couldn't feel it because he was in too much pain already. But with the first pull and the first tear, Lucifer screamed, a sound so horrible it crawled through the entirety of Heaven, echoing throughout the streets, running across the plains.

***

It was a sound so pained it would haunt Heaven until it would no longer exist. The victorious warrior angels around them stopped yelling.

All eyes were looking up at Michael with varying levels of utter horror. Lucifer was screaming, desperately trying to  claw his way away from Michael. The elder gripped the broken, detached appendages that only stayed attached thanks to muscle tighter and pulled, simultaneously pushing Lucifer down. The horrible sound would haunt him for the rest of his life as he ripped the bone and flesh from Lucifer's back. Blood and ichor poured everywhere.

The Commander showed no mercy when the Adversary started begging him, his voice broken and desperate.

"Please, please, _stop- Michael, please, please, stop it! Stop!_ "

But the elder didn't respond. His hands were bloody. He grabbed at the second pair and Lucifer howled in pain, his voice hysterical as he begged him to stop. Tears were streaming down his face.

" _Please! Please, Michael, Michael, Michael-_ "

Michael tore the third set of wings from Lucifer's back all too quickly for it to be a punishment. He felt his Father's rage and disappointment.

The Light Bringer started thrashing even more, desperate to get away from the Archangel. Flesh tore from flesh and he was choking on his tears. His rebel angels had to be held by the soldiers as they hysterically tried to help him, climbing over one another. As the elder grabbed the last pair and tore it from Lucifer's back, the former Archangel was drooling and sniffling with his face pressed to the ground and Michael was afraid.

***

He saw them. He saw his wings, lying uselessly on the ground, torn from his back. His beautiful wings, his beautiful, beautiful... Lying on the ground in a pile, discarded.

He was lying on the ground, discarded. Humiliated.

***

Michael watched as he rose first to his knees, than to his feet. He was shaking, as if he had to strain every muscle in his body just to stand. There was blood everywhere. His face and neck, his chest, his arms, his legs, even his hair, he was dirty, bloodied, stained by ichor that was pouring out of his wounds. Some remaining wayward feathers stuck to his skin.

The younger angel slowly turned his head to face him. He was battered and hysterical, tears running down his cheeks like waterfalls.

Lucifer started laughing.

Blood stained his teeth and he scratched at his eyes and cheeks, which made him look even worse. He doubled over on his shaky knees, still laughing as he coughed up blood on Michael's feet. There was too much blood, too much, and Michael wanted nothing more than to turn his stare away from the horrifying sight that was Lucifer, but his eyes stayed where they were, transfixed on the Adversary. On his brother.

"'Michael, Michael, please, stop' pathetic." He hiccupped. "You are so pathetic. 'Father, help me, please'. You can't do anything by yourself," the Morning Star was grinning, his eyes wide and manic. His smile was sharp and make voices whisper vicious threats into Michael's ears. He had never seen anything so- so _evil_ on his face. He felt something twist inside his gut.

Every time he moved he jerked back, like something that came back from the dead, trying out its limbs for the first time in many years. He looked like he was struggling against someone's invisible hold, like something was pulling him downwards to the ground.

The younger one launched at him with his fist. Michael couldn't find it in himself to shield himself from the hit. Something inside him was telling him he deserved it. All of it.

Lucifer hit him again. Again. And again. And _again_. His laughter was hysterical, desperate, like he was trying to find some comfort in beating him up. Some justice. But he was so weak that even his hardest his couldn't leave Michael with bruises.

_What did You make me do?_

To say that his brother was broken would be an understatement. He was _shattered_. _Destroyed_. Humiliated and betrayed, and Michael was the reason behind all of those. He had become too much of an instrument of God's wrath. He forgot to be a brother, too. Michael could feel grief gripping his heart already and regret ran through his veins rather than blood. He betrayed him. He was responsible for him, he was supposed to look out for him, to take care of him, to raise him- and he _betrayed_ him.

***

Lucifer felt all of his senses slowly leave him as he tried to muster some last scraps of strength to hit Michael with. His sight was blurry. His voice was weak and he couldn't even hear himself laughing. He couldn't feel the excruciating pain that had consumed his whole being and was steadily becoming the core of his form. His own Virtue was foreign to him. Nothing of him was left unturned.

He lost himself.

***

The Light Bringer fell to the ground in a heap of limbs with a dull 'thud', screaming out in agony as his injured back collided with the dirt. Something was pulling him down like a wound string.

Michael stood motionless before him, as if frozen in time, with only a look of horror visible on his face. He had no idea what was happening. He had no idea what to do. Father didn't tell him about this.

The younger tried to scramble back up onto his feet, but he stumbled on his own legs with every attempt, hitting the ground helplessly each time. Michael realized only too late what was going to happen to him.

The ground opened up under the rebel angels and they fell through the walls of Heaven. Michael stared at his brother, trying to come up with something to do, something to say, anything. But no words, no actions would ever be sufficient enough, he realized in that very moment. He cast his eyes away from Lucifer's beaten, bloodied form, the image already burned into his mind, the true horror of his actions just now dawning up on him. They were both at fault. They were both wrong.

"Look at me, Michael," the younger rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was no chance to redeem either of them. Michael looked at his younger brother, looked him right in the eyes, maybe hoping for something to latch on to, something to spark hope. but there was only anger and hatred and disgust burning in Lucifer's eyes.

"I-" he tried, but he was interrupted.

"I loved you once," the Adversary whispered quietly, only for Michael to hear, before the ground underneath him opened up, too, and he fell through the walls of Heaven as a bolt of brilliant lightning. His scream echoed throughout the skies, shaking the elder to his very core, a sound that that would haunt Michael to his very own end.

The Light Bringer was gone.


End file.
